


Only If For a Night

by Queerasil



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, First Time, Gentle Sex, M/M, Mild Smut, Not Really That Explicit, Serbia - Freeform, just the right combonation of sex and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 08:23:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2381555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queerasil/pseuds/Queerasil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of the Magnussen shooting, Sherlock is going back to Serbia. All the wants is one night with John. (But is anything ever really that simple?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only If For a Night

**Author's Note:**

> Look! I tried to write smut! And I did a pretty good job of it too! 
> 
> Enjoy!

The cab ride back to Baker Street was silent. Sherlock and John’s hands were tied together; each refusing to let go of the other. Sherlock looked blank on the outside, but surely ruined on the inside. John was the same way, but his emotions seeped through the cracks; occasionally, he would let out a sob, only to choke it back down. 

They ascended the stairs in silence. Only inside the flat, Sherlock reached out to touch John’s shoulder. “John,” he whispered, his voice course and rough. That one word was enough to break John’s heart. 

John moved closer to him and they embraced. John buried his head in Sherlock’s shoulder so tightly that nothing – not Moriarty or Magnussen or Mycroft or death itself – could pull them apart. Sherlock did the same and wrapped his hand around John’s waist. 

John pulled back a little. “I wanna go with you,” he said, knowing it was stupid, and foolish, and that Sherlock would instantly refuse. 

“No,” Sherlock said quietly, unable to meet John’s eyes. “You’ve got a life here now. I want you to be happy.” Their faces were inches apart now, and the tension between them was almost magnetic. 

They both succumbed to gravity in unison, their lips locking together passionately. Sherlock was a good kisser, or at least, better than John had initially expected. Sherlock breathed him in like smoke; soft, smooth, and passionately. Quickly, the tension between them increased until it reached a boiling point. They kissed each other hungrily, and the sexual tension that had been hanging around them for years dissipated in an instant. 

Sherlock cupped John’s cheek, stroking it gently. John knew exactly what Sherlock was doing. He was cataloging, observing, making notes and probably bookmarking this memory for later view in his Mind Palace. John wondered if Sherlock’s mind palace was like that; just one big gallery of him. Sweaters and kisses and touches and sounds – all stored away to be viewed at a later date. John hoped it was like that. 

Silently, they fumbled towards the bedroom, lips not leaving each other’s. John pushed Sherlock down onto the bed, perhaps a little too roughly, because the other man grunted. John looked at him, silently asking if he should proceed. Sherlock answered him by kissing him back again and pulling him onto the bed with him.

Sherlock started to undo the buttons on his shirt, but John stopped him. “Let me,” he said. John undid the buttons one by one, placing a chaste kiss behind on every sliver of skin he exposed. 

Sherlock moaned. It was the most arousing sound John had ever heard. He hoped to hear it over, and over, and over again that night. 

Sherlock lifted John’s mouth back up to his own, and soon they were kissing again. Sherlock’s hands explored John’s body. Searching, cataloging, observing -- saving. 

Sherlock needed more time. John was a new world for him, and he would need ages to explore all of him. 'Years', Sherlock thought happily, before realizing that was never going to happen. They only had tonight; that was going to have to be enough. 

Now Sherlock began kissing John. He explored with his tongue. His sharp, sometimes-hurtful, sometimes-playful, teasing tongue. John loved every second of it. 

John moaned lowly into Sherlock’s ear, and the other man gasped. This was all John wanted, all John needed. Sherlock’s body laid out before him like a beautiful but broken piece of art.

Sherlock touched the jagged scar on John’s shoulder, kissing it tenderly. In return, John kissed every scar, every bullet and stab wound, every burn and bruise and blister on Sherlock’s entire body. 

It was a beautiful act. Two broken, shattered creatures putting each other together piece by piece. Softly, tenderly, gently; with just the right amount of pressure and force. Filling the cracks of their fragmented souls up with gold that would bind them together for an eternity. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
